Thursday, November 20, 2014

When Being Wrong Is Just Fine

"Bend over," I could sense his hesitation so I just waited, my eyes on his lips and stubble, hands resting on his hips. "Go on." He hinged forward into the position I'd just had him, his knees planted firmly on the edge of the bed, his meaty Spanish globes now raised and parting. I lowered my face down into them.

His moans were appreciative. We hadn't really talked much which was fine. It was the eye contact that he loved. When I took a break from his ass, running my tongue down his balls and then down the length of the surprising nine or ten inches that dangled below, I could see him watching me. His forehead jammed into the comforter as leverage -- I'd pulled his arms back, silently instructing him to use his hands to let me get my tongue deeper into him -- his eyes were wide, now locked on mine as I licked the precum off of the tip of his long skinny cock that veered left about 3/4 of the way down.

Back up the length, a few kisses and nibbles at the base of his balls and then I was in his hole again, slightly discolored, definitely pinker than the rest of his skin. The moan was there again, the hole loose. I stood and swabbed at it with my head, placed it and jutted my hips forward just a little. He went silent so I stopped.

His torso came back up, his back almost a magnet to my chest, and our lips connected over his shoulder, his soft wet tongue slithering out and exploring my mouth. He pushed back a little onto me.

"I'm not going to fuck you, really." And I would hold to that. I was just playing around, opening him up for when I did finally ask for the condom and went at him deeper. He pulled a little out of the kiss, dropped a wad of spit in his hand, reached back and polished me up before taking one of his own cheeks in his hand, my tool in his other and implanting himself, firmly. This was the cause of his sigh.

I reached around and grabbed his tool, which was rock hard and he started pumping into my hand, taking a little more of my cock with each pump. I wasn't going to fuck him, but if he wanted to fuck himself for a bit who was I to stunt a man's pleasure. He paused and was back for more kisses.

"We need--"

"Bend back over." This time the hesitation was gone. The sighs transitioned back to moans as I swirled and probed with my tongue. I felt his hips hinge a little, his ass becoming just a touch more upturned as he tried to get all that I might possibly have to give. I fished his joystick from beneath him to find that he was definitely still all in for the game and decided it might be soon time for a new round.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

No Lucky Charms

Wandering through the streets of Harlem searching for a nook to squirrel ourselves into, my brain was full steam ahead on two separate roads. This lanky, Belgian boy was a model, that I knew on sight. I'd logged three years doing nothing but model identifications and though I couldn't place his name, I could clearly see his face in a spread I had posted. His name was the one road. The other, where exactly were we to have our after hours tryst.

"There's a lot of cops around here," he said breaking the silence as we crossed an intersection.

"Haha," I cast a glance over my shoulder.  "It's Harlem!"

"What does that mean? Is it not a good part of town?"

"Not so much." I responded. "There's a lot of drug dealing and stuff and the cops just want to be pretty close in case anything breaks out. Like if you're walking down the road sometimes a drug dealer will walk past you and keep repeating the same thing over and over. That's the drug they can sell you," I turned and pointed to the corner where my beloved Chinese shop was. "Last night some guy walked past me and kept saying 'sour, sour, sour.'"